Off the Map and Into Mom’s World

I’m jumping off the map here—because I had an idea. A blog about my mom. Not just any blog, but one that captures her most hilarious, unfiltered moments. She has no idea I’m planning to “interview” her, but I’m determined to document her stories in full detail—from daily quirks to spontaneous trips down memory lane.

Take, for example, the recent phone call.

The Garage Wall Incident

“Dave’s mad at me,” Mom said casually. “Apparently, I put a hole in the garage wall.”

“Well, Mom… did you?”

“Maybe. Here’s what happened. I had just come from my annual OBGYN visit—you know, Travis, the lady parts doctor.”

“Yes, Mom. I know what an OBGYN is.”

I’m already cringing. I never know what’s coming next.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I walk into the house and Dave goes, ‘When did you put a hole in the wall?’ I said, ‘I don’t know, but all my lady parts are good—thanks for asking.’”

I asked her to show me the damage, so she turned on FaceTime.

She walked into the garage, where Dave’s truck was parked inches from the entry door. “Do you see how close he parks? I swear he does this to make sure I don’t get fat. If I were any bigger, I wouldn’t fit.”

“That’s kind of genius,” I said, laughing—knowing the story was about to get even better.

She panned the camera to the wall. “See? It’s not that bad.”

“It’s a hole, Mom. And a long scrape. Where’s your car?”

“My car’s out front. Dave asked if I was going anywhere today, and I said no—it’s supposed to rain and I don’t want to play pickleball in the rain. So he moved it. He’s going to fix the wall.”

“So how did the wall get damaged, Mom? The suspense is killing me.”

“You do see it’s not that bad?”

“Sure, Mom. The wall didn’t collapse. But seriously—how did it happen?”

“Well, the other day I was backing out when a sheriff’s deputy pulled up. I might’ve turned the wheel a little too much and grazed the wall with my left front fender. I was startled—he was walking up to the house.”

“Wait, why was a sheriff’s deputy at the house?”

“I didn’t know! I got out and talked to him. He asked, ‘Ma’am, did you call 911?’ I said no and checked my phone. I hadn’t. He went back to his car and said the call came from a different number, but the address was ours.”

She paused, then added, “I think he could tell I was rattled. He asked, ‘Are you okay?’ I said yes, but I thought he was there for Dave. I could tell he then assumed Dave was some criminal.”

“Did you explain?”

“Oh, I did. I told him I’ve had numerous visits from deputies over the years. His eyes got big—I realized I wasn’t explaining why. So I said, ‘He’s not a criminal. He used to ride road bikes and frequently crashed. Deputies would come to tell me he was in the hospital.’”

“That poor deputy. Did you blame the hole on him when Dave asked?”

“Of course. But it didn’t work. Dave’s still mad. Honestly, if I’d known I did it, I would’ve slapped some putty on the wall myself and called it a day.”

Then, as if we hadn’t just unraveled a mystery involving drywall, law enforcement, and gynecology, she said, “Anyway, it’s supposed to rain today. Your sister hasn’t called me yet.”

“You want me to text her and ask her to call?”

“No, it’s fine. Hope you have a good day. Love you. Goodbye.”

“Love you too, Mom. Goodbye.”

Stay tuned for more short, funny conversations with the Momma. The Diva. The Hell-raiser.